


hearts aligned

by veksi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst ?, Background Relationships, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Dad Lance, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Lactose Intolerant Keith, Like, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Single Parent Lance, Soap Opera Drama, Trans Pidge | Katie Holt, Underage Drinking, broganes, i lied this will probably get angsty, idk this is cute, not angsty really just some drama, pidge is a trans girl ok !!!!!!!!, tbh single young father lance in this, will tag as chapters go on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12003831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veksi/pseuds/veksi
Summary: lance is a single dad in college. keith is an awkward student who gets roped into the fiery mess that is lance’s life. lance’s kid decides keith is his favorite, and keith learns the meaning of friendship– among other things.[ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]





	1. luis loves keith and keith is ok with that

Lance is loud.

Keith learns this the first time he met him sophomore year of college, when he spots the guy picking up his friend Pidge. The guy pulls up in his old, navy blue ‘98 silverado with Rihanna’s voice filtering through the speakers, grin on his face and hair stuck in wild directions. He doesn’t have a shirt on, there’s a slight tan line peaking past his swim trunks, and towels laid across the couch cushions. He looks positively messy, smells like chlorine, but Keith finds he gives off a...homey aura. 

He bumbles out words faster than Keith can keep up with, all smiles and lilted with a joy the man hadn’t heard in years. It’s off putting, strange, and he finds himself tugging at Pidge’s sleeve. He’s— he’s just so damn happy. There’s no way he’s human with the amount of glee coursing in his veins. Not to mention the confidence practically flourishing under the sun, all winks and finger guns at groups of college girls. It is entirely alien, and Keith does not feel safe letting Pidge climb into this guy’s truck.

The face she shoots him is _weird,_ like he’s the one who’s holding her back from greater things. Her expression prompts the guy in the truck to glance in his direction, eyes squinting, until finally he shouts out, “You!”

“...What?” Keith fumbles, eyes wide and darts his gaze around to see if anyone else is being yelled at. No, it’s him who’s in trouble, and the grin on Pidge’s face is all too familiar. That brat, what’d she know that he didn’t?

“You’re in my— crap, what is it,” he starts snapping his fingers, mind blanking and Keith stares, bewildered, “the, the thing! The, the class, it’s about ribosomes and mitochondria and, crap! I can’t remember!”

“Biology?” Pidge teases, inching towards the blue truck and Lance lights up like a Christmas tree.

 _”Yes!_ That! You’re in my Bio class! You sit next to me, and I’m like, _always_ seeing you ace your tests, even when you sleep in class! Every!” He honks the horn for emphasis, “Day!” 

“Um,” Keith says, and a pit in his stomach forms. The thing is, he doesn’t really remember him, because as the guy mentioned, he’s always catching up on sleep in class. Cryptid hunting is very taxing on the human body; Keith wishes he was alien, instead. Even with the sleep though, it’s not like biology is hard for him— he’s good at science and math and junk like that, and he’s bad at interpreting shit. That’s just how he is. “I’m...sorry?”

“You apologising just makes it seem like you don’t even care! I work very hard in that class for a mediocre grade, thank you very much!”

“I mean, it’s not hard?” Keith questions, eyes trailing after Pidge’s retreating form. She climbs into the truck, and he prays to whatever higher power out there to make sure she doesn’t come back acting like this dude.

“Are you callin’ me dumb?” The man gasps, hand slapping his chest with an aghast look on his face. Uh oh.

“N-no, I was just—”

“I’m watching you, Keith Kogane! Mark my words!”

Keith doesn’t get the final say because the truck is speeding off, carrying his best friend and this stranger in it and a single question sticks out like a sore thumb in his brain. 

“...he knows my name?”

-

Apparently, he does. Keith also knows his name, because the following day Biology rolls around and he’s determined to keep awake during Coran’s lecture to get a look at the guy. That’s when Lance, his occasional lab partner walks in, exasperated and panting as he barrels down to the professor, frantically explaining something. He’s holding something Keith can’t see, and just keeps spilling out words faster than Keith can keep up. But Coran is following along just fine, and waggles his fingers goodbye, with a shout of “Not a problem! Just make sure he doesn’t disrupt anything!” 

Lance offers a million thank yous and runs back up to his seat, shuffling around feet and joining Keith on the bench. Keith nods, taking a glance at his face and places the name to it, and realizes a few things.

One, Lance is known for two things. He is smarter than he lets on, and he is a father. His son is two years old and he is eighteen, and that’s about as far as his knowledge runs. The other thing he realizes is there a whole baby in the space between them, presumably Lance’s, who is teething on a toy and leans on his father’s midsection. Thirdly, Lance is a little too attractive for his gay heart to handle. Okay, wait, that’s not important because there is an actual baby– well, toddler– sitting in his Biology class like he’s studying for his major like the rest of them. Keith would’ve believed it, judging from the way his pen scribbles on a notebook.

“Well, look who’s awake for the first time,” Lance remarks, gently prying the pen out of the child’s mouth and offering a crayon to draw with, instead. The baby does this little wiggle, and it’s so fucking cute and continues drawing. Keith wonders how much his artwork is being sold for. 

Lance notices Keith’s staring, and rubs at the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I can move if he makes you uncomfortable.”

“Uh, no! No, it’s fine. He’s cool,” what the fuck, Keith, you just called a baby cool, “What’s his name?”

“Luis,” Lance replies, full of pride and joy. He strokes the top of his little baby head, thick hairs wisping against his hand and kisses his temple. “I call him Lolo, though. He’s super quiet, so he won’t bother or disrupt anything either. He can say your name, though, if you tell ‘im. Go ahead, try it.”

Lance taps the kid’s shoulder, and Luis looks up with a face of wonder and excitement, and Lance points at Keith. “Lookit, Lolo,” he cooes, and Luis looks at Keith with wide eyes. “He’s gonna tell you his name, yea?”

Luis squeals, earning a few dirty looks from the studious corner of the room, and Keith’s fully prepared to jump the tables to punch the shit out of them. That is, until Lance raises a brow to Keith, and oh, that’s his cue. “Hi,” he mumbles, but it’s so gentle, more than he expected it to come out like. “My name’s Keith.”

Keith has never felt so much emotion in one moment. So much joy and love and happiness, all culminating inside the pit of his belly when Luis looks at him with those navy doe eyes, lashes fluttering and big gummy smile. His hands slap down in front of Keith, and with a squeak, gurgles out, “Keef!”

Keith’s heart swells tenfold, and he tries as best as he can to keep a face of stoicism. It doesn’t work the best, because his lips sort of smile-frown strangely, and Lance snorts out a laugh. “He tried, I guess.”

Only, he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, whispering out, “Keef, Keef, Keef, Keef!” and patting his hands on the side of his lap. Luis is having the time of his life, inching away from his dad and finally, he lets his hand slap on Keith’s thigh. 

“Ah, geez,” Lance yelps, dragging his son back to his side with an awkward, apologetic expression on his face. “Sorry, sorry! He gets really excited around adults, ‘cause he’s usually at the daycare and only ever sees other babies, y’know? He clings a little bit, but I’ll try to keep him with me–”

“Uh!” Keith interrupts, and Lance winces, obviously prepared for the worst. 

Keith doesn’t normally like kids. Well, he just hasn’t been around enough kids to truly be able to form an opinion on them. He didn’t have siblings, either, and a good chunk of his life was spent in between foster homes void of infants. When he was adopted, the only son was eight years older than he was, and Shiro sucked with kids. So, this sort of one in a lifetime experience, where a child was willingly getting near him and bubbling out his name, and he really, _really_ likes it. He’s that socially deprived, that a two year old paying attention to him is a god-given blessing. “He’s okay. He can– he can do his thing. I don’t mind.”

“Oh. You sure?”

“Yuuup.”

“Alright...well, thanks for that, Keith.”

“You’re welcome,” Lance lets go of Luis and the kid scoots a little closer, smiling up at his dad, and then just continues doodling.

The class goes by alright. Keith keeps himself awake because Luis will hand him sheets of paper, scrawled on with red and blue crayons in vague shapes of flowers, and because he just likes asking Keith questions. Like his favorite color, or what Coran is even talking about, or his favorite type of pizza. He definitely doesn’t ignore the way Lance lights up at the mention of Hawaiian, and the way he keeps glancing over, trying to get a read on Keith. He doesn’t blame him, ‘cause his kid is all in his business trying to learn all the ins and outs of this guy who sits next to him in Biology.

Towards the end of the class, Lance starts trying to wean him off of Keith so they can continue with their day. The problem is, Luis has Keith’s arm in a death grip, preventing him from taking any notes and doesn’t _particularly_ wanna leave just yet. It’s just one of those kid things. The last few minutes of class rolls around, and Coran’s letting them leave early, that’s when things get a little weird. Luis has let go of him as Keith puts his things away in his bag, and Lance finishes up a little faster than he does. He’s leaving, and he picks up Luis and offers a tiny smile to Keith, and hell breaks loose.

Just as he’s stepping out the row and trying to get to the stairs, Luis _wails._ He starts freaking out, balling his fists and rubbing at his eyes and he’s crying his little heart out. Like, crying so hard it starts to hurt, and he’s coughing and Lance is desperately trying his best to calm him down. “C’mon, Lolo,” he begs, bouncing him into his shoulder and petting his hair. “ _Que tienes, mijo?_ You want food, you hungry? You don’t need a change– ah, geez, Lolo, please–”

“Keef!” he cries, and Keith drops his water bottle, choking on a mouthful of lemon tea as his head whips toward the noise, bewilderment sunk into his expression as the kid makes grabby hands towards him, to the surprise of Lance. Most of the other students had already left, and Keith stumbles forward, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. He’s like a switch, because Luis calms to a soft cry, rubbing his eyes dry and giving him another one of those super soft, super gummy smiles. 

“Um.” Keith shuffles on his feet, waving a hello to Luis, who’s already feeling ten times better than before. “Does he do that a lot?”

“No, sorry, he just– he gets really attached, and it takes a little bit before he’s too tired to care about someone leave, and, sorry, this is gonna be weird to ask,” Lance’s face turns beet red, fiddling with the denim of his son’s pants, and turns his head to the door. He’s completely avoiding Keith’s gaze. “You wanna go get lunch, or somethin’?”

Okay, in the logical part of Keith’s brain is understanding that this is probably for the better of Lance’s health. If he can tire out his child as much as possible, then it means a better night’s sleep for the both of them. It isn’t meant to have any romantic connotation behind it, it’s just a friendly _come hang out with me and my kid so we can sleep okay,_ and that’s _fine–_ but also, Keith. Keith is very gay, Lance is a handsome boy, and the thrumming beat of his heart screams “It’s a date!” They’re not even friends, that’s not plausible, so Keith shoves that gross, lovely stuff down his throat, and nods. “Sure. No big deal. Yup.” 

Lance nods, and coughs into his fist. Nailed it.

–

They’re sitting inside a little spot not too far from campus, a Louisiana-style restaurant Lance’s best friend’s girlfriend works at. It’s a very comforting environment, and it seems the server already knows what Lance wants. A little bit of maneuvering for Keith, (“You’re lactose intolerant?” “Yeah, why?” “...you said you eat pizza, dude.” “Just because I’m lactose intolerant doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss out on some homemade macaroni and cheese.”) and they’ve ordered their meals and sit patiently for them to come out.

There’s definitely an awkward silence. Aside from Luis bumbling off incoherent sentences, Lance obviously has no idea how to approach the situation. He asked some stranger in his Bio class to come hang out with him because his kid is a little obsessed with him, it’s understandable. In reality, Keith is a very curious person but has no idea how to truly approach his questions in a conversation. 

“So,” Lance begins, stirring the ice in his glass of rootbeer, “what’s the dealio with you, Keith? Major, why’d you pick Arus, a little bit about yourself? I don’t really know much aside from the fact you know Pidge. How’d you meet her, anyway?”

“Uh, I think I’m shooting for archaeology. I like that kind of thing, always have, and I have a pretty good shot at it. I chose Arus ‘cause I managed to snag a scholarship here, and it’s local to my brother’s place. S’where I live. I met Pidge back in my senior year of high school– she skipped a few grades, so she ended up with me in college when she was barely fifteen. She’s a lot of fun,” Keith picks up a cheese curd, chewing it thoughtfully before asking, “what about you?”

“I’ve been friends with her since elementary– she and Hunk are my best buds. We lived on the same street, not too far from us. Well, it’s somewhere around here. Anyways, I’m majoring in marine biology, and I picked Arus because of this little guy.” The look on his face is a little somber, but he shakes his head and beams. “It was an easy drive from my apartment, so we’ve made do with the school. Coran is cool, and he said I’ll do just fine. I live around the area too, though, you live east or north of the school?”

“Northern part of the city. Housing’s cheaper there.”

“True to that,” Lance chuckles, and bounces in his seat as the food arrives. “...I live in the northern part too, though. Maybe we’ll meet up again.”

“Yeah,” Keith laughs, and dives into the delicious looking bowl of gumbo. One bite, and he’s absolutely in love with everything about this place. “Maybe.”

The rest of the evening goes along a little easier. Keith watches Lance feed Luis tiny spoonfuls of rice, mimicking an airplane under his breath and pressing kisses to his hairline. He learns that Luis has been two for a few months, is really bad at walking, and seems to like Keith more than he likes his own daycare sitters. He also learns that Luis has tagged along today because Lance’s normal sitter is out of town for the week, so the kid’s gonna be tagging along for his classes. He’s quiet, mostly, until he breaks out of his shell and is practically a carbon copy of the excitable bundle of fun that was Lance. They even laughed eerily similar, if Lance’s voice sounded like a baby’s. It did not.

They finish their lunch around the time that Keith needs to head back to campus, and Lance uses the downtime to catch up on sleep while Luis nods off in his arms. Stomachs full and after a very successful first meet-up, Keith finds he’s smiling more than he normally does. Lance walks him all the way back to campus, stroking Luis’ hair and talking animatedly about some kid in one of his classes.

He’s a little too loud, and a tad annoying, but he isn’t so bad. They have to part soon, and Lance faces him with a grin, leaning eye-level with Keith. “Y’know,” he begins, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You’re not such a bad dude, Keith Kogane. I think we could be friends.”

“In your dreams.”

“Maybe so,” Lance says, and turns on his heel, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “I’ve got a feeling you want to be my best bud, though. See you around, Mullet.”

“See ya, asshole.”

Luis is already asleep, so he’s not too concerned about his language, but Lance still gasps and covers his ears. But that gasp drops and he smiles, then walks towards parking lot. His truck pulls out of the lot, waving a final goodbue out of his window before heading in the directon of Keith’s house. Right, they live in the same area. With a wave of his fingers, he meets up with Pidge outside of their designated spot and head to their class together, Keith with a skip in his step. Pidge is _horrified_ by this sight.

"You're in a good mood," she remarks, flicking his head with a sly grin. "Make a new friend, o wise, emo teenager?"

Keith is in such a good mood, he doesn't even care about her shitty little remarks. Dammit, making friends was nice and Lance seemed like a cool guy, with a lot on his plate- but a cool guy nonetheless. Luis was also cool as fuck, and helped Keith break out of that socially awkward shell he surrounds himself in. As far as first meetings go, this was extremely successful, more than he could've hoped. Besides, Lance said they'd see each other around again, and holy shit, that would be friendship _outside_ of class. Those are the best kind. 

"Yeah." Keith slaps the back of her head. "Yeah, I did."


	2. mongolian bbq and bonding

Lunch sort of becomes a thing, after that. Their first dinner is more memorable than lunch, he thinks.

The first week goes by pretty easy. He only has Coran on Mondays, so he doesn’t really get to see Lance outside of class. He expects not to see Lance until the next weekend, which is understandable. Pidge might’ve given his schedule away, though, because come Wednesday afternoon after his principles of archaeology class, Lance is there. He’s leaning against the window, thumbing through his phone and obviously waiting for someone. Luis is by his feet, excitedly waving at cooing college girls and when he spots Keith, screeches, “Keef!”

Keith slides a baffled gaze between Lance and Luis, shifting uncomfortably under his classmate’s gazes. The entire situation isn’t normal, but Lance looks like he gives less than a shit about all this. Keith, on the other hand, has a bad time under people’s scrutiny.

So with a tentative hand, he offers his fingers to Luis’ open hand, who takes them in stride. Keith darts his eyes to Lance, who’s amazed at the never-ending stream of students. Slowly, he tugs them to the other side of the hallway isolated from the rest. It’s easy enough when Luis follows along, and Lance takes one last, longing glance at the students before meeting Keith with a smile.

“Hi, sorry to bother you like this.” Lance rubs his neck sheepishly, leaning down to scoop up Luis in his arms. “Lolo has no conception of time and really, really wanted to see you again. He was pretty peeved off about not being able to, and he started throwing things, so– here I am. I feel like that’s not enough of an excuse, but I’ll buy your dinner if you’re able to come out to eat with us. Pidge said you didn’t have anymore classes today.”

Again, weird situation but Keith doesn’t care. If this Lance guy wants to buy his dinner, sure, that’s great! He’s poor, and if Lance is financially stable enough to buy meals for three, so be it. He might have to ask about that whole money deal, because he currently makes $9.25 in his work and it's not nearly enough to skim by and pay off his tuition debts. So Keith shrugs, shouldering his bag more comfortably and jerking his head towards the exit. “That’d be great, thanks. You mind if I bring my bike back home before we go, though? I don’t like leaving it around at restaurants.”

“Why’s that?”

“College kids are too dumb and sleepy to steal it, but most of downtown’s full of bars, and bars means drunk white dudes doing stupid shhhhiii– _things.”_

Lance snorts, nodding in understanding and following Keith out to the parking lot. It’s a little unnerving, how much of the evening class crew seems to stare in Lance’s direction. Lance pays no mind, but he can’t imagine how long it would’ve taken for him to deal with these sort of things. Keith can’t even handle a group of five, yet here is Lance, breezing through the hundreds of students staring his way. It’s admirable.

They reach his bike pretty fast. His crimson Kawasaki sits in the lot, his pride and joy as the fresh paint job glints off of the sun. He’s lucky he’s got Shiro, because that means he’s friends with Matt, and Matt knows an entire legion of mechanics who are more than willing to fix and customize his bike as he pleases. Red is a beauty, and he’s damn proud of how he’s cultivated her over the past two years of ownership. 

Lance lets out a low whistle, taking an appreciative glance at Red before him. Luis is less than appreciative, and is more interesting in patting his hands on the wheels and handlebars. It’s cute. “Nice bike, Keith,” Lance comments, watching Luis diligently, as he wanders around the bike. “I don’t know anything about bikes, but like– it looks cool.”

“Thanks.”

“Yup.”

“Nice.”

They pull out of the parking lot shortly after, and head out for dinner.

– 

Granted, someone thinking them to be a married couple when they’re walking from the parking lot to the steakhouse downtown isn’t _so_ unbelievable. Especially since Luis has weaseled his way into Keith’s arms, and Luis looks a lot like Lance. Surrogates are a thing, so the mistake is easy.

Although, he doesn’t expect anyone to say anything about it. He definitely doesn’t expect the group of drunk, young girls shaking their glasses of pina coladas to them, wild grins and lidded eyes partying just at the cusp of 8 PM. What he thinks will happen is a few cat calls in their direction, which is fine, women deal with it all the time why shouldn’t he, but what comes is horribly different.

“Heyyy, sir!” the girl whines, shaking her beer in his direction, “your baby’s sooooooo cute!”

Lance chuckles, holding his hand up in thanks, and another girl squeals. “You guys look soo cute!” The girl holds her chin in her palms, sighing dramatically. “I love cute couples!”

Keith fumbles, clinging to Luis as he steadies himself on the sidewalk. He stares at the girl with blown open eyes, wide and surprised and mouth gaping like a fish. Lance looks a little shocked, but he just laughs it off, pushing Keith forward with a hand on his back. “Thanks!” he calls, and the girls wave frantically goodbye to an excited Luis.

They walk, Lance filling silences with descriptions of the restaurant. So far, he’s learned it’s the chain restaurant of BD's Mongolian Grill, it’s pretty delicious, it agrees with Lance's wallet, and Pidge hosts there after classes. She always sneaks Lance discounts under the guise that they’re cousins. _Totally_ believable.

Keith feels the question itching on his tongue, thrumming his fingers on Luis’ back. It’s not a weird question to ask, so he just– he says it. “So, um,” he begins, scratching at his neck, “why’d you just...let them say we’re a couple?”

Lance raises a brow, shrugging and stifling a yawn behind his hand. “Easier in the end, otherwise I’d get millions of questions about my single fatherhood. Sorry to say it, I usually just say I’m married to whoever I’m with if I have Lolo with me. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop, but if it makes you uncomfortable ‘cause you’re homophobic, I _proooobably_ should leave–“

“No! No, uh, it’s fine, I’m– “ oh, here it comes, “I’m gay. You’re fine.”

“Oh. Nice. Me too. Sort of– I’m bisexual.”

“...nice.”

Thankfully, the weird exchange does not drag on, because they reach the restaurant in the nick of time. It’s only just starting to fill up, intoxicated and/or high as balls bar patrons milling in for an evening meal. It smells heavy of cajun and cooked meats, and the sizzling of the open grill meets his ears pleasantly. Even if it’s just a chain restaurant, he feels relaxed enough. Then Pidge spots them from the host stand, and shit’s a little weird from there.

“Hey, guys,” she greets, ducking her head away as Lance tries to pat her head. “Didn’t expect to see you guys together. Table for two?”

“And a booster seat, if you will.” Lance winks, and Pidge takes a moment to stare, straight into his soul, then strikes her palm against his forehead. Lance shrieks, Luis giggles, and they’re seated before Lance can get back at her. He tends to his wound with a pout, glaring at Keith. “You should’ve stopped her, man. Now I’m suffering.”

“Suffer all you want,” Keith peers at the drink options, mouth watering at the dessert section, “I’m gonna ignore you and get a lemonade.”

“Rude!” Lance gasps, clutching his heart (or chest) with his hand and taking Luis from him, once the booster seat has come around. “Pay for your own damn meal.”

Keith freezes. “...wait, really?”

“I’m kidding.”

Keith unfreezes. He gets his lemonade, Lance gets apple juice for Luis, and orders himself a root beer. Everything’s going pleasant, and they’re talking about life and joking around, and Lance rambles on without a care. It’s somewhere around a mouthful of rice noodles that Lance lets out a soft chuckle under his breath, and Keith raises a curious brow. Lance slurps up the rest of his noodles, stifling another laugh, and Keith frowns. “What?”

“No, no, nothing, you’ve just– here, c’mere,” Lance mutters, and Keith leans closer. Lance comes forward, swiping his thumb against the corner of his mouth. There’s a remnant of red cajun and teriyaki sauce on his thumb, and Lance wipes it off on a napkin before offering a sheepish grin. “Sorry. You looked dumb with sauce on your face like that. Well, not dumb, just– yeah.”

Keith’s heart jumps in his throat, crawling it’s way up, up, up and Keith shoves it down, down, so far _down._ It’s just a momentary thing, but he fumbles with himself and doesn’t think too much of the gesture because Lance has a son, of course he’s gonna do sweet things like that without a second thought, and Keith is _fine,_ he shoves more tofu in his mouth.

Towards the end of dinner, they make the leap and decide to split the bill on some fucking _fried Oreos,_ which are terrible for his digestive system and will probably kill him, but he is willing to take that risk. Lance on the other hand is more than happy to take part in this cholesterol fest, at the expense of his own health. They’re soft and warm when they arrive, and Keith doesn’t realize how close he’s gotten to Luis. Not until he’s midway breaking up an Oreo for him, and catches Lance smiling at the two.

“He really likes you,” Lance comments, threading his fingers through his son’s wispy hair, “Thanks for being so sweet to him, and stuff.”

Keith shrugs, wiping at the corners of Luis’ mouth. “I never get to be around kids this small. Kind of cool, I guess?” he stops, and he’s not sure why the next part comes out so easy. He hates talking about this with even _Shiro,_ his brother, the family who actually ended up adopting him at fifteen. “I sort of get why he’s so...attached. He’s really only got you, and things like someone being nice to you is this whole other world. I remember when I was in my first good foster home, and that– that was like a dream. I never wanted to leave, because like, wow. That’s such a good feeling, to be loved, y’know?”

Lance swallows thickly, looks at the veins of his hands and the pulling tendons on his wrist and the perfect trimmed nails, and his knuckles, and nods. Whispers, “Yeah. I bet it is.”

Keith doesn’t pry, but he gets it.

They finish their dessert quietly, and drag themselves back to the car with bellies full and smiles on their faces. Pidge begs them to take her home, but sadly she has to close the restaurant tonight, and she’s absolutely suffering. Keith waves at her and doesn’t ignore the way Lance kisses her temple, like an older brother that he knows is off halfway across the world, and his heart swells.

When they make it outside, rain is splashing hard against the sidewalk and most bar patrons have retreated indoors. Lance shrieks, shielding Luis’ eyes as he tugs off his jacket, draping it over the three of them as they make their way to the truck. Keith’s phone sounds against his back pocket, but he isn’t too keen on taking any chances. Instead, he helps Lance maneuver the jacket around while he straps in Luis to his booster seat. Finally, they’ve all made it in, and Lance shakes his hair like a wild dog.

Which, in all honesty, should _not_ send his heart into palpitations like it does. But Lance’s wild grin, and the way his hair sticks up in all directions and his shining blue eyes, all of that in one image just makes his chest a bucking bronco, and he shakes all those gay thoughts out of his head. They’re hanging out, this is _fine._

Keith checks his phone, which sends his formerly tornado-spiraling brain into a hurdling rollercoaster. It’s a text from his brother, stating _”Not gonna make it home tonight, hanging out with some friends! I’ll see you tomorrow.”_ Normally, this is fine. Normally, he’s not stupid and takes his keys everywhere with him, because he usually doesn’t have fun like this. Normally, Shiro does not go out and stays home like a true homebody, but today is not a normal day. Meaning, he’s locked out, in the rain, and has no place to go. Siiick.

Keith groans, pressing his forehead into his palms and digging his face into them. Lance takes a glance over, carefully pulling out of the lot and rumbling out of the area. “You okay, dude?” Lance asks, and Keith shakes his head.

“I’m locked out, in the rain, and my brother won’t be home ‘til tomorrow afternoon. I get to sleep on the porch tonight.”

Lance takes another glimpse, but stays quiet, peering in the back seat. Luis is starting to fall asleep, eyes flitting closed and head slumping over. He’s all tuckered out, and looks so damn cute with his fuckin’ plaid shirt, and his fuckin’ denim jeans, man, he loves this kid.

“You can crash at my place,” Lance comments, and Keith slides his eyes in his direction. Slow, as to not cause suspicion. “I don’t mind.”

Keith mulls this over. He sort of considers this a weird offer, in their first few hang-outs, but he’s tired and he doesn’t want to get rained on, and if Lance turns out to be some murderous cannibal with a taste of gay Korean college students, he knows enough martial arts to subdue him. So it’s fine.

“...Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Lance.”

“No problem.”

– 

They’re sitting and enjoying a beer or two together once Luis is put to bed. Lance has gone off to retrieve some things for Keith to sleep in, and the Korean enjoys a drink in the meantime. They both discussed in a sort of non-white solidarity that their families are both alright with drinking at 18, because dammit if he’s able to draft before he’s able to drink, that’s pretty damn shitty. And he’s a mindful drinker, of course, even if freshman year of college is supposed to be about getting fucked up in a hole-in-the-wall no ID required bar, and throwing up martinis and tequila shots outside a Wendy’s. He knows how to handle himself.

Lance comes out with...an outfit, indeed. It’s the worst pajama pants in existence, sharks and polar bears scattered on the blue fabric and the t-shirt offered is definitely a quote from Mean Girls– “It’s like I have ESPN or something!”– and both are strangely fitted. When he puts them on, the flannel fabric clings a little too tightly to his butt, and the shirt drags on past his crotch because Lance is tall as fuck, but that’s cool. He sort of looks like the other girls on campus.

When he comes out, Lance slaps a hand over his mouth to prevent him from losing his absolute shit. Keith indulges him, for a second, lifting the shirt to show him how fucking small these pants are on him (oh, Lance totally checked out his ass just then) but it’s a good time. A good laugh. 

So they’re sipping their beers, and Keith’s got his hair pulled in a ponytail and Lance is painting a fresh coat of nail polish on his fingernails, and he’s got a pink mask on his face and his hair is pulled in a headband, and it’s all oddly domestic. Even moreso when Lance leans over his fingers to paint Keith’s a bright red, and offers to paint his face the same petal pink to “clean up those pores, my _god,_ Keith!” Now they’re just sitting on the couch, sipping their drinks through a straw in order to keep their nails tidy, and Lance puts on _Mean Girls,_ aka the only movie he owns, and Keith tries not to crack his mask from laughing so much. It’s nice. It’s– it’s great, actually. 

They both get all tuckered out after their third beer, when the clock strikes 12:26 PM. Keith yawns behind a fist and Lance calls it a night, retrieving blankets and pillows for Keith and pulling out the couch for him. It’s comfy enough, if not rickety but it smells like Laaaanc– holy shit, weird thought just then. Keith shakes that off. He's been having a lot of weird thoughts, these past two days, and something tells him it's not gonna stop there. But in true Keith fashion, he shoves that notion deep in the pit of his throat and locks it away, hidden.

Lance turns off the last of the lights and leans over Keith’s bed, who’s clicking through some last minute notifications on his phone and curling into the blankets in a burrow. “You look like a cat,” Lance notes, and Keith huffs indignantly. 

“I resent that.”

Lance pauses, and silence drifts for a minute. “Hey, would you mind doing this again? Like– hanging out. It’s fun.”

“...no, I don’t mind. I had a really good time today.”

“Me, too. Luis really likes you, and...shit, I think you’re pretty cool.” Keith can’t see it, but Lance’s cheeks are blooming mahogany and he’s rubbing at his neck. “I’d like to see you again.”

Keith is red hot. Red, red hot. Dammit, they’re friends. “Same here. We can figure something out.”

“Cool.”

“Nice.”

Lance turns on his heel with a quiet goodnight, and Keith hears his footsteps stop some space away from him. Probably the hallway. “...for the record, I like cats. A lot.”

Keith falls asleep with scorching ears and wide eyes and heart sent in arrhythmia. 

They’re _friends._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow start, but i wanna put more substance in this b4 getting into the Juicy Bits... i promise we will meet more characters soon but for now have this unnecessary cute chapter. hope u enjoyed...


	3. the picnic chapter

Okay.

Maybe Keith should’ve expected that considering they live in the same college town, and Keith landed a new job at the nearest Target, and Lance is not only a college student but also has a baby, and Target carries baby products, they might’ve bumped into each other. So the week after the two of them have that impromptu sleepover, and find themselves non-stop texting. They don’t see each other, until Sunday afternoon during his shift. The last text he sent was a Snapchat of the one dollar section, a mess of notebooks and stripe printed pencils, with the caption of “Look, it’s your house,” and Lance was not happy about that one.

Other than that, he’d been non-stop scanning items, arms tired and eyes half-lidded. His red polo was sticking awkwardly under his armpits, and khaki pulled tight against his quads, and his shoes were starting to pinch his feet and make his socks all sweaty, and man, he fucking hated this job. But it paid well enough for his lifestyle, and provided some decent discounts on fruit. A very important part of Keith’s life.

He’s about ready to collapse, after pining girl #11 strolled up to his register with blushing cheeks and awkward bedroom eyes, and he’s so exhausted from the seemingly never-ending stream of girls who were far too interested in his ponytail and his face, that he doesn’t lose the grumpiness for the next customer. He just starts scanning things, like eggs and milk and sippy cups, brow furrowed, and a familiar chuckle rings in his ears.

“Look who’s all grumpy today,” Lance coos, glancing at him over the register. Not like he had any problem doing so, considering Lance is a fucking giant, but he’s leaning on his cart. Keith tries very hard not to smile at the sight, which is definitely not in-character, and pulls his lips in a frown. “Lemme guess. Too many old ladies hitting on you?”

“Too many high school teenagers. It’s gross.”

Lance nods in understanding, and Keith checks his register line. Lance is the last one there, but otherwise the store is deserted and he’d really like to go on his break right about now. He flicks off the register light, mumbling something into that stupid walkie fucking talkie his manager (Allura, he loves her but fuckin’ _come on, really?)_ makes him report things into, and continues checking Lance out. Well, not in _that_ way, but also in that way. Lance is wearing a clean, ironed black button up and equally as neat black slacks, and he’s got a hoodie haphazardly thrown over his get-up. See, that’s not what attracts his attention– instead, it’s Lance’s hair, all pushed back and there’s a lock dangling on his forehead, but _fuck_ that’s a good look for him. Absently, he thinks about that stupid _Mean Girls_ quote– “You look sexy with your hair pushed back.” – and keeps his lips shut, eyes down as he scans the items. Standard things for an adult with a child, like oranges and coloring books and toilet paper and a deck of Pokemon cards. Essentials. 

Only, Keith is impulsive and weird and awkward and is very bad at conveying what he means, because as he’s handing Lance a Snickers bar, Keith stares at the cuffed wrists and mumbles, “You iron your shirts well.”

If there was any god, he’d have pitied Keith in this moment. Would’ve struck his fancy schmancy time machine, brought him back moments before he said that, but sadly, no mercy was brought. And Lance– Lance just looks at him, for a real, good, long time and _loses his absolute mind._ He snorts so loud it draws the attention of his coworkers, keeled over and clutching at his stomach desperately. Tears form at the corners of his eyes and Luis laughs along, more excited to be laughing than he is enjoying the situation. And Keith starts kinda chuckling under his hand, then he starts really laughing, weird Windex wheezes escaping him, spit flying and hands slapping against the conveyor belt and it’s a great time. Lance recovers first, rubbing at his eyes and watching Keith with this– with this _look,_ as he’s finishing scanning the rest of his items. 

Keith just. Says it. “Hey, wanna go get some coffee over there after this?”

“Hell yeah.”

So they do. Keith counts out his change, deliberate and slow (Lance’s hands are soft) and leans over the counter, tiny stickers in hand. It’s from some weird lion-robot cartoon that Keith is _convinced_ looks like a cat Transformers, but they’re cute and shiny and he likes them well enough. He sticks the cat robot heads to Luis’ shirt, all lined up, and Luis claps his hands. He screeches out a “thank you,” but it sounds more like “Thab’oo Keef!” and he kind of spits a little, but Keith smiles and takes it in stride. He fumbles when he looks at Lance though.

Man, he’d never seen the guy so… _starry-eyed._ Big shining pools of navy, wide and sparkling and reflecting warmly off the reds of his surroundings. He’s mesmerized, staring at Luis and letting him tug his arm hairs, but he stays absolutely, positively still. Then he slowly, slowly turns his head to Keith, lilts of a smile tipping on his cheeks and his teeth are so blindingly white, and Keith feels red red red crawl on his neck and ears and diverts his gaze, coughs into his fist. “Let’s go.” Smooooth.

– 

Coffee is nice. Keith orders something bitter, Caffe Verona, ‘cause he’s got an acquired taste for only the most full-bodied of coffees. Meanwhile, he’s pretty sure Lance is giving the barista, Lotor, an absolute aneurysm. Not that he cares, because Lotor’s a huge dickwad and gets overly pompous about his Starbucks counter job– in _Target,_ mind you– and likes to push Keith’s buttons. Something tells him Lance figures it out, too, when he’s setting the bags down at a tiny corner table and lets Luis tug on his hair.

“You look a little young to be a father,” Lotor mutters, but it’s more of a sneer than anything and he sees that lip curled of disgust. “I’m surprised you can afford this, what with your… _lifestyle.”_

He’s really going to reach over the counter and start choking the life out of his bratty face, but Lance scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“No shit. I had _no_ idea,” Lance mumbles, and shushes Luis when he squeals about a cake pop. “I can afford this fine, thanks. I make like, four hundred a night _easy,_ so this is chump change, buddy. ‘ppreciate the concern, now can I get a venti iced hazelnut macchiato, extra shot, light ice, extra whip? And a cake pop. _Sir.”_

Lotor grumbles something about annoying customers which is entirely bullshit in Keith’s opinion, but he knows Lotor won’t do anything bad about their drinks. Mainly because Allura is totally their manager, and she’d send his ass out to the trash if he messed with Keith. Keith, understandably, is Allura’s favorite– and she also was Shiro’s wingman in the span of Mission: Stop Letting Shiro be an Idiot and Make Him Kiss Matt. So, he’s got some brownie points here.

They get their drinks, Lance is a good samaritan and tips anyways because he knows that working behind a counter sucks and the two of them enjoy their drinks at the little table. Luis is having a bumbling great time, gnawing on the cake pop and wiping his lips with his napkin, but doesn’t really get anything off.

“Keef,” he whispers, staring at the cake pop in awe. “How’d they make’it _pink?”_

Obviously, he says that with much less enunciation and a lot more spit, but Keith understands well enough. “Food coloring,” he answers, taking a sip of his coffee (much to Lance’s chagrin). “It makes things change color. I can show you, sometime.”

Something about that statement is so...so domestic. It’s scary, to think that they’ve known each other for approximately one week and he’s already out here setting up playdates. Lance doesn’t care one bit, but the feel-good, happy vibes are unsettling. Keith’s used to getting angry customers, and he’s used to people dropping him after a first date. But Lance just keeps coming back– the selfish, tiny voice in the back of his head wants more. Wants to keep Lance all for himself, be weird and stroke his hair and sleep bundled up in the depths of his comforters, but that’s– that’s just unreasonable. It’s only been a week. 

He crams those thoughts in the crevices of his brain, taking a long, bitter sip of his coffee and finds he’s not so calm anymore. A little more wary, a little more alert of everything– senses hyped up on Starbucks and a smidge of dark chocolate he stole from the wrecked candy aisles. Lance’s fingers wipe at the crumbs on Luis’ lip, grinning at him with those fucking _teeth._ It should be illegal to have such putridly, positively, poetically, profoundly pretty perfect teeth. Fuck.

“Did you ever have braces?” he asks, and he’s preparing himself to have someone to relate to. No one had such straight teeth without the help of metal death traps, considering Keith himself had those for a solid four years and still has to wear his retainer most of his waking life, so Lance would’ve– 

“Nope. Got these pearly ol’ whites from my dad– nothing special, though, my skin is where it’s at.”

Keith considers throttling Lance.

–

Just like that, they are friends. Luis doesn’t attend their classes for a while, and the weeks start to meld together. Soon enough, they have their “first month friend-aversary” and Lance insists on doing something special. So they’re sitting in Biology, where Keith finds that he’s listening and staying awake for more often, and tries his very best to keep his gaze forward. 

Lance is furiously writing on a sheet of notebook paper, a spiel of word vomit and scratched out ink, and is very adamant in not allowing Keith to see. The nice thing is he’s got Luis set up with the babysitter for quite a few hours, and they’re free to do anything they want until about 5 PM, but still. Keith is impatient, and things like this piss him off– _waiting._

But he does it, because he does not want to sit through a Lance tantrum of ruined surprises and how Keith is “no fun, you little shit!” and prefers to keep the guy focused on this paper. 

Coran finishes up his lecture a bit early, and dismisses the class in favor of knitting a sweater for his “daughter”. Daughter in quotations, because none of them have ever seen this woman (It’s Allura. Keith found this out when he dropped lunch off for her and told her to “Try her very very best!”) and are not quite sure she exists. He’s cool, though, and Keith lets Lance finish up his little letter. He decides to text his brother to kill some time, but Shiro’s already beat him to the punch.

_[11:36]_ **takashit shittogane:** Little bro, I’m freaking out  
_[11:53]_ **teeth kogayne:** what  
_[11:53]_ **takashit shittogane:** Oh good you’re here  
_[11:53]_ **takashit shittogane:** Matt wants me to go to dinner with his family  
_[11:54]_ **teeth kogayne:** ?? you’ve done that before?  
_[11:54]_ **takashit shittogane:** Yeah but not like this!!  
_[11:54]_ **takashit shittogane:** We’ve been dating for like seven years and Colleen keeps asking me when we’re getting married  
_[11:54]_ **takashit shittogane:** What if he pops the question Matt’s been weird lately  
_[11:54]_ **takashit shittogane:** Oh fuck what if he does then you have to move out because I can’t have you hanging around while we’re honeymooning  
_[11:55]_ **takashit shittogane:** Keith please  
_[11:55]_ **takashit shittogane:** WHAT IF HE’S PREGNANT  
_[11:57]_ **takashit shittogane:** are you fucking kidding me  
_[11:57]_ **teeth kogayne:** you’re overanalyzing shit again. just calm down, and if he does ask i’ll figure it out. you’re fine, aren’t you the one always going on about how “patience yields focus”?  
_[11:57]_ **takashit shittogane:** You text too slow. Also shut your mouth this is different I don’t have patience for MARRIAGE  
_[11:57]_ **takashit shittogane:** Shit Matt’s coming back to the car gotta go  
_[11:57]_ **takashit shittogane:** Keith if it comes down to it you were a great room-mate  
_[11:57]_ **takashit shittogane:** Please wash the dishes when you get home  
_[12:00]_ **teeth kogayne:** no.  
_[12:00]_ **teeth kogayne:** also you swore i’m telling mom  
_[12:01]_ **takashit shittogane:** DON’T

Lance taps his shoulder and jerks his head to the doors, backpack zipped and notebook sheet tucked in his back pocket. Keith yawns, stretches, and follows Lance out to the parking lots. From there, it’s a little hectic– Lance makes him Keith drive around for a little bit, awkwardly maneuvering his bike through Lance’s sudden turns and generally reckless driving decisions. See, without the baby, Lance is a maniac on the road. Now, Keith is paying the repercussions of these decisions and is a little pissed off when they end up at some park. There’s a bunch of high school kids there, and he’s already annoyed. He parks his bike, stomps over to Lance and starts shaking his hair out of the helmet he’s wearing and pulls on his normal, definitely not biking gloves, and he’s _so_ ready to tear his friend a new one– 

oh.

Lance is many things. He is a father, he is a college student, he is a swimmer, he is 19, he is an employee at Cheesecake Factory and works mornings at a Cuban restaurant, he is a Leo, he is both a ladies’ man and a gentleman’s man, he is a biologist, but Keith never pegged him as _cheesy._ He stands there, with a sheepish smile on his face and blood red cheeks and these stupid, overly distressed blue denim jeans and this dumb black T-shirt that states “Daddy” in this dumb Barbie font (Lance bought it out of fucking _irony_ ), and he’s got his nails painted a pretty periwinkle and– fuck. He’s holding a woven basket and a tiny cooler, with a red and white, plaid quilt tucked in the crook of his arm. He looks at Keith with those swimming pools of eyes and shrugs. “Happy friendaversary. Wanna have a picnic?”

Keith stands there. The sun beats on the ripped knees of his jeans, and makes his own shirt cling a little grossly to his skin, ponytail pulled low at the nape of his neck and he just– he exists, for a second. He stares at this enigma of a man, who he knows so much yet not enough about, and he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and nods. “Yeah. I’ll bite.”

And he does. He helps Lance set up the blanket, taking tupperware out of the depths of the basket– oh my god, it’s homemade, he’s gonna _flip–_ and setting two beers between the two of them. Lance lets some music thrum out of his phone. Keith ignores the bounce of his heart at the sight of a guitar cast beside Lance.

“So,” Lance says, some time after they’ve eaten lunch. Lance makes a fantastic sandwich, and the flan he’d packed along is seriously no joke. It may have been the best thing he’s eaten in roughly a year. “I’ve got a present for you. Us, actually, and it’s totally awesome. You gotta close your eyes, though.”

“Lance, I swear to god if this is another worm–“

“No, no, I promise! C’mon, Keith. Pleaaaase?”

Keith, begrudgingly, screws his eyes shut and tries not to let out a screech when Lance’s hand brushes against his wrist. There’s a slight taste of cloth kissing his skin, deft fingers bumping against his palm, and Lance lets out a low, “Okay, open up.”

When he looks, it’s probably the most sincere thing a friend has given him. It’s a red bracelet, threads meticulously woven in a tightly braided string, small blue beads woven into the string. It’s simple, and when he looks closer there’s a teensy tiny, ruby gemstone hanging off in a wire encasing. A quick glance at Lance’s own wrists confirms his suspicions, and he’s got nearly the same. Blue thread, red beads, blue stone. Lance rubs his neck awkwardly, playing with the strings of his guitar absently. “Bracelets. I made ‘em myself, so they’re a little fragile. You can adjust it by pulling those strin–“

Keith leaps forward. He’s not sure what he’s doing, why he’s doing it, but he feels Lance’s burning hot cheeks against his neck as his arms encircle Lance, squeezing him flush against his chest. The Cuban, quietly and carefully, slides his arms around Keith’s waist and breathes in a deep sigh. When Keith draws away, Lance looks like he’s had a severe case of heat stroke and Keith’s heart is ecstatic. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and draws away. “Seriously. This is probably one of the nicest things anyone’s done for me, so.”

Lance nods. He props his guitar up in his lap, but that red hot blossomed on his ears refuses to budge. “I’ve got a little– little song, too. Like, it’s literally five lines. It’s the shittiest song, and there is absolutely no substance to what chords I play. You ready?”

“...yes?”

Lance starts, anyways, and keeps his eyes trained on the frets of the guitar. He’s very blatantly avoiding Keith’s gaze, and clears his throat. Breathes deep. Starts. “I think you kind of suck,” strum, “But you’re also kind of sweet,” strum, Lance has the voice of an angel, “How about we hop in my truck,” strum, “Halfway, is where we can meet,” strum, strum, strum. He slows. “Head out before it gets too late,” strum, Lance holds his breath. Lets the “-ate” hold. “This is me asking you on a date.”

Keith is, understandably, a pooling fountain of red blood washing his face, and feels his insides melt like putty and his heart short-circuit. Boys are fucking horrible, he decides, but Lance is very much not horrible, and he’s just as red as Keith and just as sweet as sugar and just as loud as his stereo, and Keith lets himself go. Indulge in this, even if his brain screams to pull away before he gets hurt, but he does not listen. Doesn’t. 

“Okay,” Keith says, and plays at the frays on his knees. “I’d like that.”

Lance takes Keith home, when they’ve got nothing left to say and four o’clock creeps up on them. Keith parks his bike, and Lance follows him right up to the door. Steps on the porch, leaaans close, presses a shy kiss to his cheek. “I’ll meet you at six, next Saturday?”

“Yeah. See you then, Lance,” he says, but not without returning the favor against the arch of his brow. “Say hi to Lolo for me.”

Lance smiles, wide, and nods. Heads back to his car, and Keith’s legs turn to jelly when he leans out the window and yells, “I’m really looking forward to it!”

Keith leans against the doorway with a heavy sigh, clutching his backpack. Someone swings open the door, and it’s Shiro, with a mix of panic and surprise on his face, and he definitely has a pair of fuzzy pink slippers on with his slacks. 

“Two things. One, explain, _now,”_ Shiro states, and drags Keith inside. “Two, help me find my nice shoes or so help me God, Keith, I will rain hellfire on your life.”

Keith only nods, and daydreams of Saturday float through his mind. 

Until, Shiro slaps him upside the head, and they get back to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh im sorry im a bit late. if u havent noticed these updates r weekly but im so bad at scheduled updates....i promise, we'll be getting to some Plot Thickenin' soon, i just wanna get some fluff before i dive into some. other things.
> 
> hope u enjoyed tho!!!!!! i loved writing this chap!!


	4. things never go as planned

Like most things in Keith’s life, plans for date night seem to fall out of place for no apparent reason.

They ran into a bit of a hiccup, Saturday evening. Lance nearly had to bring Lolo on their date, which was fine, but seemed to annoy Lance to no end. He really stressed wanting an atmosphere without talking about his son as a buffer, and his babysitter didn’t want to budge from her home, and it would’ve been quite the reality. 

Of all people, though, he never expected Pidge to step in. Pidge, who spent the better half of her life hunched over a computer pushing her luck hacking into her brother’s Facebook and posting embarrassing photos of his nostrils, who freaked out at the sight of spiders and ate whole jars of peanut butter and cried over itchy sweaters. She noticed their predicament early on, really only on accident. See, Lance had made a group chat with the lot of them (Keith, Pidge, Hunk– who he later met at a group bowling date– and Lance), and had mistaken the chat for his and Keith’s private messages. Something along the lines of, _Lolo might have to tag along, Mullethead :(_ which obviously incited a flurry of messages teasing the two for the discovery of a date. In turn, this lead to Pidge’s offer of babysitting, so here he is now. 

Shiro sits at the foot of his bed while Keith has an internal meltdown. Blistering hot sun no longer screams at their necks in favor of cool October air, but this _also_ means Keith has a million times worth of wardrobe options. By that, he’s definitely got like, four different red sweaters that are all equally appealing.

“This one,” he holds up the oversized, burnt orange cable-knit sweater with rolled up sleeves and a face-swallowing turtleneck, “says, “Look at me, I’m indie and gay. But _this one–“_ Keith holds up a burgundy waffle-knit sweater, with a deep v-cut neckline and a necklace haphazardly thrown on the hangar, “screams, “I’m gay and am down to fuck.””

“Jesus Christ, Keith, you’ve gone on hundreds of date...things with his guy, and you’re worried about your first official one? Just pick something he hasn’t seen you in yet!”

“You’re right. I _am_ down to fuck.”

“I wish I could kick you out of my house right now, immediately.”

Keith snorts and flicks Shiro’s forehead, who yelps in response and kicks at poor Keith’s aching hip. They tussle for a little bit, no real technique or method put into wrassling around trying to throw the other one on the floor first, but Keith wins and Shiro collapses in a heap, beside Keith’s dresser.

“I’m dying. This is it for me, Keith. Tell Matt I love him– hey, wait, if you’re putting on makeup at least let _me do it you conceited little shit,”_ Shiro doesn’t give him much of a say in protesting, snatching the eyeliner pen from his grasp. He sort of manhandles his face around for a little bit, jerking his face into a workable position and Keith gags. Ew, Shiro smells like onions and eggs and definitely like garlic, and he’s breathing all gross on him, he hates this. He actually hates this. 

“Can you hurry up so I don’t have to smell your weird omelet breath and I can go douse my face in cologne so Lance won’t smell it, either?”

“Can _you_ stop being such a big baby and just let me do something for you so you can go mack on your boyfriend?”

Keith decides in that very moment, he hates Shiro, but begrudgingly lets him pat cosmetics on his face so he looks a little less dead. 

When he looks into the mirror, he has to take a double take. Keith isn’t very insecure; he knows he’s pretty good looking, but whatever Shiro did to make him look even better is astounding. His skin is breathing but looks so perfectly blurred– _photoshopped,_ even– and his eyes are sporting a look that compliments the rest of him. He kind of– kind of turns around, and winks at himself, and has to stop because _what the fuck, Keith,_ and does one, long look at his butt.

Oh yeah. He’s definitely ready.

In perfect time, too, because a certain someone’s ringing the doorbell and knocking at the door. Shiro practically sprints to the door, while Keith is still gathering his wallet and keys and finger-combing his hair into place. A low ponytail wisps at his neck, and his bangs frame his soft, supple cheeks, and his eyes are a stormy violet, and the burgundy sweater does wonders against his complexion, and god _damn_ his ass is working these jeans, no breaks, 80-hour shifts. 

He finishes gathering his things and stumbles down the steps, and already sees Shiro grilling his maybe-boyfriend. Lance is shuffling his feet, nervous smile as he tries to answer Shiro as steadily as possible. Said shithead brother has a stern look on his face, arm flexed and prosthetic gleaming a wiry silver and he looks like he’s been hitting the gym one too many times. Keith sends his foot into his brother’s side, knocking him into the shelves and sending him a furrow-browed scowl.

“Leave him alone. You’re not nearly as scary as you’re trying to play off. You can’t even kill a fly, you fuckin’ vegan.”

Shiro frowns, flicks his forehead, and goes to sit on the couch while Keith greets his date.

Lance, as always, looks earth-shatteringly adorable. He’s wearing a pair of nice jeans, light in wash and rolled up at the hem. His shoes look a little new, only slight scuffs at the heels, white, gray, and blue in color. His shirt is a thin, white cotton, paired with a thick, woolen gray coat and his hair is mussed in a handsomely messy way, and fuck. He looks good, real, real, good.

“Hey,” Lance says, and he’s all cheesy smiles and red cheeks, “I know you need to get flowers on dates, but I think that’s stupid since they die so quick, so– here. I got you a pot,” he brandishes said pot in his arms full of buds and stems and blooming flowers, and taps the floor with his foot, “of daisies! They need to be watered, but you can keep them outside and watch them grow. I thought they were pretty cute.”

Keith smiles, whistling Shiro over and ordering him to set the pot somewhere safe on the grass. Shiro complains the entire time but does it anyways, and Lance scratches his neck nervously. 

“So, uh, here’s the thing,” he looks so embarrassed, it’s making Keith feel awkward, “I kinda. Ran out of gas, on the way here. I probably have enough for a trip home, but I don’t think I can make it to the place I wanted to take you.”

“S’cool,” Keith comments, and a grin curls over his lips. “We can ride my bike.”

Lance visibly _pales,_ trying to play cool as he teeters near the bike. She’s especially shiny today, from her new polish and is a beacon of color against the dreary October weather. Keith swings his legs over, rumbling at his thighs as he revs her up and throws a toothy grin at Lance. “Hop on, bud.”

Lance runs his thumb along the edge of the helmet, scratching at the soft inner foam. His eyes flicker between Keith, the bike, and the helmet, until he musters up some courage and hops behind Keith. “Uh, can I…?” The question trails off and his fingers sort of linger near Keith’s waist, until the Korean nods, and he’s got his arms wrapped tight around him. Thick coils of muscle sit pleasantly on his stomach, and Lance is all leaning and sweet and warm against his back, and Keith ignores the backflips in his stomach. 

Keith backs out the driveway and Lance shrieks, jostled by sudden movement and tightening his grip around Keith. He chuckles, revving up the engine one last time before cruising his way down the street. They’re pushing maybe 15 an hour, but Lance has his face dug between Keith’s shoulder blades and his knuckles are white.

“Where to?” Keith yells back, and Lance makes weird motions with his hand.

“Downtown!” Lance sort of– screams that into his neck, and the visor is down and he can feel every breath against his hair. Keith shivers.

“Got it!”

Keith soars down the road, exhilaration sinking deep in his bones and thrumming in his blood. He lived for this– lived for the dangers of the road, the risks of barreling down the street, the wind searing against his skin and leather digging into his thighs, hands, arms. He absolutely loved going at speeds his legs couldn’t fathom running, tires skidding on pavement and body near sheared red against the concrete. It was practically his life, and he’s not sure how he would fare in the world without it.

Lance, on the other hand, is a stranger to this kind of speed. Sure, he barrels around in his big ol’ truck and drives madly and recklessly and semi-illegally, but he doesn’t stick his body out the window and drive with his feet. He definitely has never been on a bike, because he has not stopped screaming in the past few minutes into Keith’s shoulder. So Keith does a quick little tap against his calf with his own heel, and calls over the noise, “Hey, I got you! Just– just look over my shoulder, looking at the ground makes it worse, so just– yeah!”

He doesn’t think Lance will get it at first, and he’s resigned to the stream of shrieking in their trip. He stops, though, and Keith feels Lance’s head look up, and pause. The breeze skims against his cheeks, and slowly, Lance starts rumbling out a laugh. The city lights have begun to sparkle against the quickly setting sun, and Keith has to admit it looks _beautiful._ Lance cries out in joy behind him, eyes darting every which way, and Keith is glad he’s finally enjoying himself.

They reach downtown in a solid thirty minutes, Keith swinging into some restaurant’s quick-filling lot. Lance plucks the helmet off his head and shakes his hair like a dog, wild grin on his face but quivering hands.

“That was _fantastic!”_ Lance cries, stumbling over the bike and stumbling, legs buckling under him. Keith grips his elbows to keep him upright, slowly leading him down the pavement as he rambles about city lights and aching muscles and Keith’s eye– wait, what?

“Jeez, man,” Lance murmurs, fingers clutched in Keith’s shoulder and teeth glimmering in the light. “I said, you look fuckin’ breathtaking, today. I didn’t get to tell you back at your house, and, just. Wow. Your eyes, too– I’ve never seen anything like ‘em. They’re absolutely gorgeous.”

Keith squeaks, cheeks flaming hot red, and he slaps his palm against Lance’s mouth, keeping his gaze to the floor. He can feel Lance chuckling under his hand, but he keeps walking them forward to the restaurant’s entrance. It’s cozy, albeit packed and seems to spread good, slightly-too-expensive vibes and radiates warmth.

See, this is where Keith knows, now, that something will go wrong. Lance sweet-talks the hostess about his reservation, while Keith sets to work plucking off his gloves and tucking them into his wallet. They’re getting lead to their table, and Keith can sort of feel Lance’s fingers slipping between his, and– 

He’s not sure exactly who collides with who. He thinks that it was the rushing server, who’s got drinks balanced on her shoulder and isn’t paying too much attention, but that’s not the problem. The problem lies in the fact that she most likely tripped, and the tray gets sent sailing right into Lance. Wine glasses and weird artisan tea is flung into the air, crashing right into Lance’s forehead and shirt. It’s positively ruined, but Lance is thrown back from surprise, sending Keith down with him. He knows that this fall may have been his fault, because _another_ server stumbles behind his flailing feet and throws her tray of salad, and that spills on the both of them. There’s caesar salad spilled all over his back and shirt and chunks of lettuce in his hair, and he’s pretty sure he punched Lance in the face. 

It’s chaos. The servers start yelling out a multitude of apologies, trying to clean off Keith’s hair and their shirts with napkins, and the manager is rushing over from the commotion, trying to help the two of them up. It gets worse at the sight of Lance’s forehead, which is not only bruised but _bleeding._ The remains of a wine glass lay strewn across his chest and there’s a jagged cut from the hairline to his temple, and the culprit lies in the glass. At some point, Lance must’ve swung his arm and sent the glass into his own face, shattering on impact and cutting him effectively. Keith’s got a few nicks, but he stumbles to his feet and cradles Lance’s head into his chest.

“I– oh my god, sir, I am so deeply sorry about this,” the manager panics, whisking the servers off with a furrowed brow. “That’s– that’s bleeding a lot, we’re gonna go ahead and call a paramedic–”

“Nope, nope, don’t do that,” Lance sighs, leaning heavily into Keith’s shoulder. “Don’t fire those girls either, it’s my fault. I’m just gonna– gonna drive to the hospital. I don’t wanna pay for an ambulance.”

“Lance,” Keith warns, and swipes his thumb against the blood dripping on his eyebrow. It’s deep enough to require some medical attention, but not enough that he’ll need stitches. He thinks. “We should really go to that hospital right about now.”

“Yup.”

The manager insists on driving the two of them there, considering Keith’s bike will do no favors for Lance’s spinning head. They sit in the back seat of his two-door, Keith brushing his fingers through Lance’s hair and talking him through the pain.

“Rule to self,” Lance huffs, picking at the bloodied cardigan in his lap. “Don’t get glass stuck in your head on a first date. How you doin’, babe?”

Very much ignoring that slip of a pet name, Keith shrugs and scrapes his nails across Lance’s back. “I smell like caesar dressing and lemon raspberry tea. You tell me.”

“Haah. That _rhymed.”_

They arrive at the hospital, surprisingly empty considering it’s Saturday night and there’s a few drunk groups lingering about. Lance is attended to quickly, deemed stitches are unnecessary, and gets a few pain meds to kill the headache and get some bandages around the wound. While the nurse goes off to get Lance’s insurance information and some things to clean up the wound, he sends a nervous smile on his face.

“Sorry our first date took place in a hospital, Keith. Kinda had this whole plan– we were gonna eat, then go to a bar and fuck around for a while, then I had planned an ice cream date and we coulda eaten that, and like– I was gonna tell you my life story. It was gonna be so good, and I fucked it up.”

“Don’t apologise for that, you big dummy,” Keith mutters, and plays with Lance’s fingers in his lap. “It’s not your fault. Besides, the time that we have spent in this hospital has been very clean and very informative, so I’m doing just fine. If you’re that upset about it, we can try another time.”

“Still wanna tell you my life story, though.”

“How about we do that when you’re not about to get hydrogen peroxide doused on a head wound?”

“You act like I’m gonna scream and cry about it while they do it!”

Lance screams when they pour said peroxide on his forehead and tears brim at his eyes when he’s poked and prodded around by the nurse. Keith holds his hand the entire time, trying to suppress his giggles and comfort him all the while. Lance is quickly treated, two big blue bandages stuck on his forehead while the nurse finishes up her treatment. 

“Try not to let that happen again,” she laughs, forcing Keith to show his arm so she can treat his scratches, too. “I know the feeling. Glass sucks.”

“You’re right about that,” Lance comments, returning the favor and stringing his fingers through Keith’s hair. Keith admits he yelped when the peroxide made contact, but at least he didn’t scream. “Thanks for being such a good nurse, Ms…?”

“Plaxum! I’m happy to help,” Plaxum offers a smile and puts few bandages on the most pressing of cuts on Keith’s arm. “I’m all finished up here, so if you guys wanna head up to the front, go ahead! Try _not_ to come back, yeah?”

“Will do!” Lance calls over his shoulder, and jerks his head to the door. “Let’s go?”

Keith nods, and thanks Plaxum a few more times than necessary before heading to the lobby. The manager is waiting patiently, obviously relieved at the quick exit and pleads the two of them let him pay the medical expenses. Lance shrugs, citing “It’s better for my wallet, anyways,” and strolling out to wait by the car.

The night had rolled in, street lamps illuminating against Keith’s arms. There’s a few people milling about, either already drunk or just getting started, and he can see a few people limp into the hospital reeking of beer. It’s comforting, in a way, that they weren’t the only big idiots that night.

“You feel okay?” Keith asks, taking a glimpse at their intertwined hands. Lance hadn’t budged at all. “That was a nasty cut.”

“Dandy. My head hurts, and I kind of want to go home. I wanna just hug Lolo and hope he’s already asleep, because damn, I can’t deal with his energy.”

“I wonder where he gets it from.” The comment is all sarcasm, but it opens a gate Keith isn’t sure he was prepared for.

Lance hesitates, and there’s this look on his face. It’s a cross of displeasure, discomfort, somber, soft and nostalgic all at once and shuffles his feet against the pavement. Scuffs his shoes. Sighs. “He takes after me more than he takes after his mom.”

Keith freezes, and looks at him, and opens his mouth to say something, but–

“Okay, you two! Again, I’m so incredibly sorry about all of this– I know you must have a car or something back at our restaurant, and we will try to get it towed to your house so it won’t cause anymore trouble, and– ah, I’m sure you want to be home, so– let me take you!”

Keith nods, awkward, and squeezes Lance’s hand. He looks so, so tired, like he’s got this swelling feeling in his chest and needs to puke up his feelings and emotions and everything he’s kept bottled up for years. It’s enough to yank Lance into the car, mumble off Lance’s address, and they head home. 

Matt’s car is in the driveway, and he can definitely see both Holt siblings engaged in a ferociously quiet game of Mario Kart. Keith trudges to the door, stepping back to let Lance unlock it and the two step in. To his surprise, Shiro is laying on the floor, nursing an empty bottle of apple juice, and his stupid vegan snacks lay strewn across him. He’s halfheartedly cheering Matt on, but it’s completely ineffective and harms more than it helps. 

Matt looks up, sending them a wide smile and a flutter of his fingers. “Hey! Sorry to crash Pidge’s babysitting adventure, but–”

“Not to be mean,” Keith starts, and lets Lance wander and fall into the couch. “Date night kinda went to shit– Shiro, don’t give me that look, Lance was an incredible host– and we both need to talk about something. So, uh, for lack of better word–”

“Get the fuck out,” Lance’s muffled groan resounds, then just as quickly rescinds itself. “Uh, Shiro, not you–“

“God, you were made for Keith,” Shiro comments, a smile on his face. He gets up, pulling the other two to their feet and heading back to Matt’s car. Pidge stops, slowing in front of Keith and casting a worried glance at her friend.

“Is he okay?”

“Mostly, I think. We just gotta talk about some things, I’ll text you later. Tell Hunk I said hi, when you get back.”

She nods, taking one more lingering look at her friend before following the other two out the door. Keith shuts it, creeping up the stairs to check on Luis– he’s fast asleep in his bed– before making his way to Lance again.

“So.”

“Sooo,” Lance whines, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re probably wondering where his mom is, huh?”

“More than I’d like to admit. Sorry.”

“S’no big, everyone wonders. I’ve only ever told Pidge and Hunk, though.” Lance laughs.

“Oh.”

“That means you’re one of the special ones, Keith,” he comments, and brushes his thumb against Keith’s jaw. “Special mullet head.”

Keith swats his hand away, and settles into the couch. He has a feeling this is going to be a long talk. “Whenever you’re ready, Lance. I’ve got all night.”

Lance pauses, wrings his hands out, and starts.

“So, uh, before you ask– yeah, he’s my son. He is the product of my sperm and my ex-girlfriend’s fertilized egg cells to make that little bundle of joy. Um, we’d been dating for a while back in high school. I think a couple years or so? We started dating when I was like, fourteen. We were dumb and in middle school, so we only did stuff like hand holding and shit like that. It wasn’t really healthy, because we’d fight a lot then we’d make out and act like we’re the perfect couple. We were used to that dynamic, and I think that’s the reason a lot of the stuff that happened, happened. I think sometime around junior year– I was barely sixteen as a junior because of dumb age cut-off shit in schools, y’know– we both decided, fuck it. Let’s take that next step. So, you know the whole drill. We get too into it, and we think we’re okay. Safe sex and all that, you use a condom, right? Well, uh, we were dumb kids, like I said. We bought those off some sleazy gas station in a moment of desperation, and I never really checked to see if it was tampered with or anything. Maybe it was my fault, but like– I got her pregnant. She came crying on my doorstep about it, and. Shit, Keith. I didn’t know what to do.

“She was one of those girls who was firm in her decision about thinking abortion was wrong. Which is fine, to each their own, but I always thought it shouldn’t be a matter of choice? Guys can’t tell girls what to do with their bodies, that’s fucked up. So we– fuck, we had to tell my parents. My mom was furious. She wouldn’t speak to me for days, and my siblings were obviously uncomfortable with the whole deal. They wanted to support me, but like, I just knocked up my girlfriend, at sixteen? It’s kind of hard to deal with that.

“We dealt with it, though. I helped her every step of the way, got a job and all that shit to help pay for all the shitty medical bills, and I ended up selling a lot of my shit to help out, too. I was– I was trying my best, I think she understood that. I still think she gets it, now. 

Sometime in her third trimester, she started being weird about the baby. I would ask her where she wanted to keep him, she would be adamant in saying my house. I didn’t think much of it, until she started sending over all the baby stuff from her place to my parent’s house, then started talking about how much she wanted him out already. In comparison to how much she’d grown to love him, she was so...so cold, y’know? I didn’t think anyone could, like, hate a baby before it was born. She did, though. Sometimes I wonder if she hated all of it before, but never wanted to admit it.

“The day of her birth was probably the worst week of my life. He was born in April, so it was always raining, and there was this crack in the ceiling. I hadn’t sealed it over yet, ‘cause I was worrying about her so much, and she just lost it. Started screaming about how I fucked up, how it was my fault that she had this, quote, “shitty fucking baby inside of her,” and I took it. I did fuck up, and it was my fault she had to carry around this little thing for nine months, and then she was just tearing me a new one. Called me a fuck-up, a deadbeat, an annoying ass and talked about how she was ready to get rid of this thing. Like, before that– I get it. I get why she was saying all this stuff, and I wasn’t really a stranger to this kinda thing.

She was always sort of like this. She got angry really quickly, and not like the endearing way you do, Keith, but the borderline abusive way. I think we just indulged each other until it got too serious, too real, and she lost it. Again, I don’t blame her– it was a shitty situation. But, god, when she said she wanted to get rid of him...I lost it, too. I was yelling right back about how horrific the adoption cycle was, how much of a shitfield the foster care system was, how I wasn’t going to let her just give him up because he deserved better than what I gave him. She’s yelling, I’m yelling, then she. Stops. Looks down, and I’m like, this is fucking it.

“She gave birth fairly quickly. Honestly, I was convinced birthing would kill her– she wasn’t exactly the picture perfect image of an expecting mother. It was quick, though, and after they cleaned up Luis, I don’t think I’ll ever forget her face. She looked so distant, so angry and cold, and I swear she looked like she wanted to kill me and Luis and everyone else in that room. She– she looks at me, and I can still remember how terrified I was in that moment, and she says, “You ruined my entire fucking life, Lance. I never want to see you or that fucking thing, ever again.”

“So I left. I kept my distance while they kept the baby in the hospital, and she only really fed him, if I’m being honest. When we got the okay to take him home, she left with her parents and they moved away to fuckin’ Canada, of all things. I took him back with me, and my mom tried. She knew I was hurting, that this was the lowest period of my life, and she did her best to help me out. I couldn’t force her to do everything for me, and eventually, I convinced her to let me move out with him when I turned seventeen. We got this house under her name, and she visited as often as she could. When she wasn’t there she’d make one of my older brothers or sisters help me out. They were the reason I’ve gotten this far, and the reason I’ve managed to keep that little sucker alive. He took after a lot of me, but sometimes I look at his little button nose, or his eyebrows or his eyes and think– fuck, this is so shit. I wasn’t supposed to ever live like this.

“Then I met you,” Lance says, voice quaking and tears brimming his eyes, and the smile on his face is so fucking soft, and warm and kind as he drags his thumb up his neck, across his jaw, to his cheek. Keith didn’t realize he’d started crying until Lance sweeps a droplet off his cheek. “You’ve been real good for me, Mullet. I’m starting to think I should keep you around.”

Keith ignores the sinking in his stomach. Ignores the feeling that, as most things in his life do, something will go wrong. This attachment is unlike anything he’s ever felt, to feel so connected and woven into someone’s life only within a month, and that thought coils around in his brain. He shoves it away, just like he pushes everything else away.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Lance does. He surges forward, teeth clacking together as their lips slot against each other and he kisses him.

They kiss, well into the night and maybe go a tiny bit further, but never more than that. They sleep. The weight settles deep in Keith’s stomach, and he can only plead with whatever is out there to please, for once, let himself break free from himself and be happy. For now, Keith would like to enjoy Lance's arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to make up for the late update id like to offer u this longer chapter...
> 
> THE BIG REVEAL!! it might seem a little soon but this is an Integral Plot point...i've decided on making hearts aligned only 10 chapters, because i want to lol
> 
> hope u enjoyed!! stay tuned for my next chap/announcement! if ur interested in werewolves and unnecessarily long klance fics, swing by my acct on friday when i post the first chapter of my little halloween special!!! its gonna be a treat ;)
> 
> as always, tysm for reading and i hope you enjoyed!!


	5. IMPORTANT NOTICE

hey! sorry to interrupt your scheduled readings with this, but i kind of need to get this off my chest. 

i've never actually written a full-length fluff fest sort of fic. surprisingly, i started out with writing super duper gruesome/heart wrenching/mind warping sort of content because i've always. grew up around horror lol. i can write short one-shots just fine, but as im getting to the territory of multichaptered love fests, i kinda find it hard to keep interest.

initially, i planned on making hearts aligned a oneshot. thinking about this now, i honestly think i should've kept that idea because somehow im having trouble making a real, substance filled plot for the future of hearts aligned. i cant push myself to do these multichapters much longer, so i decided for the better of my writing ability and so that i dont end up getting a writer's block just at the beginning of a werewolf au im writing, i have decided to finish this in one go and post it as a final chapter: chapter 6.

i know this is probably gonna get some angry replies or simply have many people stop following it, but i feel like this works out best for me? writing fluff is legit so hard for me because generally, dark and dry humor with lots of gritty reality scenarios is what i'm best at. so sorry, but this will be the last update until i have finished the final chapter/the second half of hearts aligned. 

again, thank you for reading, and im sorry i have chosen to do this! i simply cannot write this enjoyably any longer with multichapters.

next time you see me, we'll have the rest of it done and posted. but until then, thanks for joinin me! check out some of my other stuff if you wanna read more of my content; those fics are definitely not as soft and nice as this, though.

in the meantime, if you really wanna read some more of my stuff and dont mind some zombies/pretty touchy subjects/gross stuff, or dark comedy/werewolves, check out [to hell and back,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10778139) my zombie apocalypse fic, or [how to date a werewolf,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12232662) my werewolf!lance fic! this'll give you more insight tbh on the kind of stuff im actually good at writing lol.

**Author's Note:**

> wowie! this fic is gonna be pretty fluffy, and pretty sweet. single dad lance will have a lot of traits from my own family, as well as stories from friends about their experiences having single parents. note, this is purely written as a work of fiction and is meant to paint their stories in a way that isn't negative. this'll be explained more as the story goes on...
> 
> if you're here from to hell and back, hiya! i hope you like this just as much as my baby thab, even if it isn't so gross and bloody. 
> 
> as always, you can find me at [my tumblr acct!](http://gggenos.tumblr.com) if you have any questions about hearts aligned, please refer them here. thank you so much for reading!


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